


Wrecked

by HannahLydia



Series: Kinktober '18 [10]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Shenanigans, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 22:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahLydia/pseuds/HannahLydia
Summary: "Jack had ended up resting his head on Rhys' stomach as he regaled him with stories of old Helios. The older man was laughing so hard he was almost crying, and it wasn’t funny, not really, it was horrific, but every time he droned on about life under stick-up-his-ass Tassiter or theatrically intoned Zarpedon’s name Rhys couldn’t help but cry along with him. Did that make him a terrible person? Probably. But this was... kind of nice? It was intimate and affectionate in a way they had never been before, and never would have been if they’d been sober, like a strange domesticity they could only achieve through intoxication."Drunk!Rhack sexy times and stupid, affectionate-with-booze Jack.





	Wrecked

**Author's Note:**

> This was written two months ago for Kinktober, but it's taken me this long to edit it, add the finishing touches and post the damn thing. Now I feel a bit of a cheat adding it to the Kinktober folder but, believe me, that's where it belongs! It was written for the '69' prompt before I ran out of all time to keep going with the other prompts.  
> PS: If you have emetophobia please avoid the last paragraph.

Jack was drunk. Off-his-face, slurring his words and grinning-from-ear-to-ear drunk. While alcohol was an evil that more-often-than-not brought out his foulest temper and caused a dark web of memories to surface - memories that he could only beat himself up about when his megalomania was numbed with drink - this time it was different. His tongue was loose, his mood was bright, and he was serving out compliments like cards in a poker game. Rhys had never seen him so completely shit-faced, and he was ashamed to say he was enjoying every minute of it.

They had somehow gotten through four bottles of wine between them in a very short amount of time, and while Jack had put away most of them, Rhys wasn’t exactly the picture of sobriety either. They’d even played some strip-poker, which Jack had spectacularly won despite his inebriation and now--- well, now they were _both_ naked.

Rhys was pressing his cybernetic hand to his face, in-part because the cold of the metal was cooling his flushed cheeks down, but also because he was trying hard to cover up the inane grin tugging at his lips.    
At some point the two of them had formed a haphazard ‘T’ shape on the bed. Rhys had stretched out, all long legs, and Jack had ended up resting his head on his stomach as he regaled him with stories of old Helios. The older man was laughing so hard he was almost crying, and it wasn’t _funny_ , not really, it was horrific, but every time he droned on about life under stick-up-his-ass Tassiter or theatrically intoned Zarpedon’s name Rhys couldn’t help but cry along with him. Did that make him a terrible person? Probably. But this was... kind of nice? It was intimate and affectionate in a way they had never been before, and _never_ would have been if they’d been sober, like a strange domesticity they could only achieve through intoxication.

Now Jack’s laughter was wheezing out of him. He spread his legs out, kicked an empty bottle from the bed mid-fidget and lumbered up onto his hands and knees. He was patting around looking for something, though whatever it was Rhys couldn’t be sure. Jack was so out of it that it was probably something he had half-remembered, thought was important, and then would forget again in a heartbeat.

Propping his head up with one hand, Rhys watched him scrabble about for a good minute more before interrupting.  
“Lost your - _hic_ \- keys, Jack?” He teased, the hiccup rising in him like a burp. “And here I thought we were h-having a good time,”

“Pff-ff… What’r’ya t-talkin’ about, babe?” Jack slurred his words so badly that he sounded like someone talking in their sleep. He didn’t look up from his search, only continued rubbing his palms across the bed. He was grinning just as wide as Rhys now, and subtly swaying as he went.. “This ‘s a _swell_ time. I’m gonna-- gonna sh-show ya a f-fuckin’ _sweller time,”_

_A ‘sweller time’ huh?_

With that little but significant clue, Rhys thought he could guess what he was looking for. As soon as he connected the dots he noticed the bottle of lube that had rolled forgotten against his left-hand side. Rhys’ smile was stupid with drunkenness, though it was supposed to have been smug. He picked the bottle up and began waving it to and fro in taunting victory. “Ahahaha-haa... Looking for something?”

Jack took slightly longer than usual to raise his head - god, he was so wasted - but when he finally did and clocked the lube in Rhys' hand his eyes narrowed in mischief. “ _That’s-ss_ what I‘m talkin’ about, sweetface,” He purred, stretching out his arm towards it. Misjudging the distance and moving at a snail’s pace, he clutched hold of thin air uselessly. “Come t'... papa…” He thought he had it, damn it. His eyebrows began to knot together in confusion as Rhys raised his arm, holding the lube up higher, It wasn't quite out of Jack’s reach like this but it was certainly enough to tease him while his co-ordination was off. A bubble of dorky laughter escaped from Rhys before he had a chance to keep a lid on it.

“You are waaa-aaay too drunk to go a-- to go a round with me right now, Jack,”

“Oh, that--- that a _challenge_ I smell, Rhysie?”

“Just a _fact,_ old ma--” The lube suddenly slipped from between Rhys’ fingers and dropped to the bed, nestling right between his thighs.

Sensing an opportunity, the grin on Jack’s face became hungry. He lit up with boyish glee as he began crawling awkwardly over him, not considerate as to where he placed his hands or knees, nor how much pressure he applied in the process. He was way too far gone to be conscientious... not that he ever was anyway.

A misplaced knee dug right into Rhys’ flesh arm and the younger man arched, cursing as he tried to slip it out from under him. The next minute Jack’s fingers had finally closed around the bottle of lube, holding it up and brandishing it in the air like a trophy. About all Rhys could make out around Jack’s backside was an arm lazily waving to and fro, the slurred cry of “- an’ the hero gets the friggin’ _lube_ , baby-!” sailing over his shoulder.  
About-ready to snigger all over again, Rhys' good humour was bitten off by a tangled cry instead. He bucked at the feeling of Jack's mouth pressing against his stomach, the sensation coming from nowhere. It wasn’t a kiss - this was Handsome Jack, and even as an affectionate drunk he wasn’t the raining-kisses type. All the same he could feel Jack’s large hands pressed to his middle, attempting to blow a raspberry there. Jack was either laughing too hard or didn’t have enough puff, because the sound he made instead was like air being let out of a partially blown-up balloon.

Rhys kicked his legs, the laughter pulled from him as easily as if he was being tickled. He tried to throw him off, grinning still, but Jack would not be shaken. The older man had him pinned with the awkward placement of his knees, and he was carelessly mouthing his belly now as if trying to nip at him unsuccessfully.

“S-So friggin’-- _sooo_ friggin’ pretty, Rhysie. L-Like a fruhh- freakin’ model,” He babbled against his stomach, making an attempt to whistle as his eyes roamed over him. Alcohol had practically _possessed_ him; Jack was like an enthusiastic puppy with boundless energy and Rhys couldn’t _wait_ to embarrass him with it the instant he was back to being Mr Asshole again in the morning. Man, he wanted to warn him of this. He wanted to tease him with what he knew to be true.  
“Y-You’re gonna - _hic -_ You’re sooo-ooo gonna take all this back in the m-morning, jackass,” Rhys promised him, stretching out beneath him as best he could and curling his toes into the bed. Except Jack decided to veto his earlier assessment by pressing wet kisses to his stomach, interspersed between more tummy-raspberries of varying success.

“No waa-aay, kiddo,” Jack swore between kisses, his voice thrumming with such cockiness that it took the edge off of the affection. “M-Mean it. Every-- Every word,”

“ _Please_ ,”

The older man laughed at that. It seemed he had taken to blaming his mask for his inability to tickle Rhys effectively because he had pulled back just enough to unclip it with fumbling hands. Jack’s fingers were almost too clumsy to work the hinges but he managed it somehow, tossing it onto the bed the same way he might toss his shirt aside. He cast a triumphant look back over his shoulder at him and Rhys found, not for the first time, that even with his horrific scar, his one good eye and his one intact eyebrow, Jack was still plenty handsome. It was almost a shame they were both too intoxicated to appreciate the apparent ease between them right now. Sober Jack wouldn't have unmasked easily, if at all. Sober Jack would never smile at him this freely, with eyes cloudy with lust.

Jack had begun to move down to Rhys’ crotch, where his arousal was beginning to flourish - almost as if striving to look its best under his boyfriend’s appraising eye. While its ‘best’ was below-average, Jack had never seemed to mind that. Likely because it helped to inflate his own ego.

As he felt Jack's hand curling around the base of him, Rhys exhaled noisily. Even though he could no longer see Jack’s face, he somehow knew he was smiling devilishly down at him. After all, when it came to Jack a devious grin was never too far away.

“Mhhh…” The older man hummed, lazily pumping his hand back and forth. “I ever tell ya you got a pretty cock, baby?” He asked in a voice that _thrummed_. It was almost a rhetorical question, but it didn’t sound like a string of filthy talk for the sake of it either.

“Oh, _all_ the - _hic_ \- time,” Rhys played along, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Yeah?”

 _No._ No, he never had.

Closing his eyes, Rhys basked in the compliment. He stretched and arched his body, giving the illusion of elongating himself beneath him as he began encouraging Jack's hand by thrusting up into it.  
“I wish-hh...” He moaned out, whinier than he'd intended but there was no helping that now. He could blame it on the drink, and _not_ on his desperate need to be praised by Jack twenty-four-seven.

Toying with Rhys’ length as if he were speaking to it and it alone, Jack continued on enthusiastically. “Well, ya-- _hic_ \- got a pretty cock, baby. It’s jus’-- jus’ right,”

It was in the aftermath of those slurred compliments that Rhys realised he should be filming this. A scenario such as this could equate to months if not _years_ worth of blackmail material, or at the very least a boner-inducing ego boost. Handsome Jack being this complimentary? Bordering on, dare he say it, _affectionate_? Perish the thought.

Jack had started to probe Rhys' glans now with the tip of his finger, testing for any pre-come beading at his tip. When he pumped Rhys' shaft it was in a way that was lazy, experimental, like he just wanted to watch the way his foreskin cocooned him and then pulled tight again with each up-down movement of his hand. It wasn't the same as being jerked off properly, but it felt so good to have him gripping him all the same. Rhys let out a breath, one that hitched midway through, and clutched ahold of Jack's thighs.

The sudden and overwhelming urge to run his hand through his boyfriend’s hair hit Rhys like a bolt out of the blue, but their current position prohibited it. Instead he smoothed his hand up his thigh to his hip, needing to feel him, touch him, assure himself he was there as he looked down at him from between his legs. He had come to notice that Jack’s balls were quite literally dangling in his face, and this made him crease with laughter even more, his dumb inebriated smile only spreading wider.  
“Ja-ack, you’re-- y-you’re _sooo_ wrecked, y-you know that, right?” He chuckled at him, all while reaching up to fondle his testicles with his flesh hand.

“N-Not as wrecked as _you’re_ gonna be, sport,” Jack jeered in return, angling his body in order to glance back at him with a self-assured, cocky smile.

_Oh, really?_

Craning his neck to meet his eyes, Rhys couldn't help but pout. “Good luck with _that_ , genius," He scoffed naively. "You’re facing the wrong way,” Or at least, so he thought in that moment. He was too giddy with his own inebriation to make sense of their current position - as if his brain was operating on a base level like a computer running on Safety Mode. He could only recognise that top-and-tailing like this meant that his ass was south, Jack’s dick was north, and those opposites were not compatible.

Jack, on the other hand, was sharp as a tack when it came to sex. The grin he flashed Rhys was conspiratorial. “W-What- what makes you sound so-o damn sure about that, p-pumpkin? Uh?”

“‘Cause…”

“‘Cause I thought _this_ , right here was our fav’rite number...?”

_Number._

_Top-and-tail._

Rhys' eyes widened, a soft 'oh' sound escaping from him as he exhaled. He clearly hadn't given Jack enough credit. As out of it as he was, Jack was still wily enough to seize a window of opportunity. Before Rhys could say anything else, his boyfriend was upon him and sucking the head of his erection into his mouth.

The moan Rhys sounded out at he twisted beneath him was long and trailing with surprise. His hands slipped back down to Jack's thighs and held them, pinching his eyes closed at the feeling of his hot mouth around him.

This? This was a luxury he was rarely afforded.  
When it came to blowjobs Jack was usually always a taker rather than a giver. Though he was _far_ from inexperienced when it came to sex, men were a whole new ball game for him. Rhys was his first boyfriend, a _very_ tentative statement in the beginning. He had learnt the hard way that when you were dating a proud and powerful egomaniac who still had some degree of internalised homophobia you didn't just... go and ask him for head. A man like Handsome Jack didn't like to be confronted with things he wasn't so sure about it. He’d only ever gone down on Rhys once or twice before, so even though he was sloshed right now and giving the sloppiest blowjob Rhys had ever had, it was also the _best_ he’d ever had. Charged and passionate. It felt amazing. Tooamazing, even.

“ _J-Ja-ack_ ….!!” Rhys' voice was ragged and shamelessly desperate. It took all of his self-control not to begin thrusting his hips and force him to take him deeper, but within moments he found this to be superfluous anyway. Considering Jack had gagged on his shaft the last time they'd tried this, he'd apparently learnt how to take his full length without practise. He wouldn’t exactly win a dick-sucking contest for taking those four and a half inches, but when he took it to the hilt, without any theatrics or protests, Rhys was seeing stars. Jack was already hollowing his cheeks and moving with the kind of greediness he usually had when he was on the receiving end, not the giving end, and it was just too much, overloading Rhys' fuzzy senses.  
He let out a keening sound, the high-pitched type that he only released when he was drunk like this or when Jack had pushed him way, way over the edge.   

Above him, his boyfriend was adjusting his position. Jack’s knees had shifted, sliding off of Rhys and onto the bed until he was effectively straddling either side of his shoulders. Was Rhys imagining that Jack was grinding his ass back? That wasn't a very 'Jack' thing to do, and yet-- none of this was a very 'Jack' thing to do.

Mentally wrestling with himself, instructing his body to calm the heck down long enough for him to return the favour, Rhys raised and tipped his head, taking his cue. He could just about hold back his moans long enough to focus on Jack’s cock, his flesh hand reaching up to angle it towards his mouth. Giving it a few pumps first for good measure, Rhys ran his tongue from head to base as best he could from his position, the hard underside of the shaft pressing to his face as he moved. He was rewarded by Jack making a gurgling sound in his throat and tilting his backside to give him more room.

Rhys' mind in that moment was an unintelligible mantra of love, lust and worship, a mess of garbled sentences strung together. _Dick-in-my-face. Jack's-dick-in-my-faaace-and-my-dick-in- **his** -face. Christ. My-idol-sucking-me-off. No-biggie. Just-my-boyfriend-going-down-on-me. Play-it-cool-Rhys. Going-to-hell. Going-to-hell-in-a-handbasket-'cause-I'm-in-love-with-fucking-Handsome-Jack.  _ 

Rhys took Jack into his mouth eagerly, adjusting to the angle, figuring out how to bob his head forwards to take him. He hooked his arms underneath Jack's thighs to grab onto his hips, desperately trying to focus on what he was doing and _not_ the feeling of Jack’s mouth on him because-- god, that was too much. It was too intense, and he needed to compartmentalise in order to keep it together, before everything got all mixed up and away from him. Except, of course, the drink was _making_ it all mixed up, twisting everything until Rhys wasn’t sure where he ended and where Jack began. They moved with a kind of rhythm, slightly off-beat from one another, making muffled noises in their throats that escalated whenever the other picked up the pace.

Everything was an amber-hued haze, the colours of _warmth_ lighting up beneath Rhys' closed eyelids. There was the wet heat of Jack’s mouth, the intoxicating fullness in his throat at taking Jack’s length, the creaking of the bed beneath them as they ramped it up, and the tightening in his balls as he edged closer and closer to release.  

Rhys was too drunk to last very long. The alarm bells began ringing in his head as soon as Jack began rutting his hips and thrusting into his throat. He was going to blow any minute, and he would have no control over it when he did.  

 _Don’t-- Don’t come in his mouth, for the love of God, you know he hates that, Rhys...!  
_And yet, when his orgasm hit, it hit him like a high-speed train. Rhys couldn’t even let out anymore than a gurgled moan around Jack’s cock as he came, spilling his arousal up into his unwitting boyfriend's mouth.

Jack tensed immediately, back arching - Rhys could feel his whole body freeze beneath his hands. It was enough time for his eyes to snap open wide in panic before Jack was grunting, fucking down into his mouth as he chased his own orgasm. Seconds later he was spasming, firing his come down his throat. Rhys swallowed eagerly, humming around Jack's girth until it was pulled from his swollen mouth. 

Together they collapsed in a messy, winded heap on the bed, half-strewn across one another and half-spread-eagled.

Rhys was glowing. As he climbed down from his peak, breathing evenly, even the sight of Jack hocking up what little of his come he'd managed not to swallow couldn't ruin his blissful mood.

Jack craned his neck over the edge of the bed, spitting as if with the intention of seeing how far the wad of spittle and semen would travel. It didn't make it far. The groan he released as soon as he expelled it was almost sober. Slumping on the mattress, he made a sound in his throat that was midway between a burp and a gag, low and acidic.  
“- _hic -_ y’ think maybe R an’ D would b-be able to make jizz taste like friggin’ candy?” He rambled into the linen. It wasn't a reprimand, but it wasn't thanks either. 

Exhaustion was weighing Rhys down all of a sudden; it took all of his willpower to sit up and glance over at his boyfriend. “Mhh... M-Maybe if-- they’re funded in the right places?” He considered, but he wasn't really focusing on the question, he was looking at the back of his boyfriend’s head in concern. Christ, he knew a vurp when he heard one. Maybe a sloppy mutual blowjob after so much booze hadn’t been such a good idea?

“… Jack?” He prompted, hesitantly toeing his side. “Are you-- Are you gonna be sick?”

“Pffftbt…” Jack huffed into the bed, because it was clearly the _stupidest_ _idea_ he’d ever heard. “Sick? Nahnahnahnahnope.. not me.. Heroes don’t -- _Heroes_ don't get sick, princess,” He jeered arrogantly, flipping the bird.

Then he pitched forwards and spectacularly threw up off the end of the bed.

 


End file.
